


A Ghoulish Thanksgiving

by pengwyn_princess



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Gen, Thanksgiving, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengwyn_princess/pseuds/pengwyn_princess
Summary: You're at Thanksgiving dinner with your family, suffering through the questions and being uncomfortable, when the doorbell rings...





	

You sit there at the table, mercilessly stabbing the piece of turkey on your plate. Your racist uncle is now in a drunken stupor and is mouthing off about politics like he does every family gathering. You sigh and sink farther into your cushioned chair as your family members nod and voice their agreements about politician so and so and how such and such group being oppressive blah blah blah.   
Your step-monster corners you as you’re up dishing more mashed potatoes on your plate.  
“When are you going to find a man? You’re starting to get old. I could set you up with one of my friend’s sons. You’re sister’s been married for years and is having her third child. Why can’t you be more like your sister?”  
You force a smile and mumble a random excuse as you step around her and head back to the table.  
“What are you doing with your life now? You could always work for your brother. He’s so successful. Why can’t you be successful like your brother,” your grandmother digs in on the questioning.  
Holidays suck royally. It’s always the same firing squad of questions. The why can’t you do anything with your life, we’re disappointed in you questions. You hate it, but if you didn’t bother showing up, you would never hear the end of it.   
You become very entranced with your mashed potatoes on your plate. You have successfully mixed them with enough butter, gravy, and leftover cranberry sauce to make it into a disgusting soupy mixture. You smile in grim satisfaction at your creation and scoop a big spoonful of it and shovel it into your mouth, earning you a look of horror and disgust from your aunt. You smile at her, food still in your mouth, and she crinkles her nose more and turns away from you with a huff.  
The tune of the doorbell immediately silences the loud chatter that has been going on all through dinner and you can finally hear what’s going on in the football game that was on TV. Everyone looks at one another; nobody’s missing. Who could possibly be at the door?  
Your father stands up, tossing his napkin in his chair and saunters over to the door. He unlocks and begins to open the door when it is thrown open from outside and a parade of masked figures come barreling into the house, past your stunned father, and right into the kitchen.  
“Found her!” one of them shouted, and a man dressed in a suit stepped forward.  
You immediately recognize the painted face and the ghoulish masks.  
“Papa,” the word slips out of your mouth, barely a whisper.  
Papa Emeritus III broke into a grin and bent into a graceful bow, “I am at your service, milady,” he replied and you could hear the hint of his Swedish accent.  
“Am I…am I dreaming?” you ask, but judging by the look of sheer horror on everyone else’s face at the table you know deep down it must be really happening.  
“We have come to take you away,” Papa holds his hand out to you and you reach out hesitantly to take it.  
He pulls you out of your chair, and with a smile and wave to your shell-shocked family you follow Papa and the Ghouls out the door and into the night.


End file.
